


Cold Comfort

by therune



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Past Abuse, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 14:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therune/pseuds/therune
Summary: James always had an unique way of bonding





	Cold Comfort

The keys were still jingling in the lock when his fingers daredt to the gun tucked into his waistband.   
Nobody should be stupid enough to break into Captain Cold’s place, but it didn’t look like the lair of a supercriminal. It looked like a 2 bedroom apartment on the 4th floor with a busted elevator. Because that’s what it was.  
Also he’s sure that no burglar would be stupid enough to watch TV on his couch. And apparently stay until the owner came back.

 

“You’re out of cereal.“

Len exhaled and he bent down to pick up the paper bag full of groceries and the six pack. He enteeds and toed off his shoes.

“Hey James.“

From the tiny hallway he could see the glare of the TV and a leg sticking up from the back of the couch.

“You’re also out of scotch.“

That bad, huh? He brought the food to the tiny kitchen (not like he cooked much anyway) and after a brief moment of hesitating, took the beer with him when he went into the living room.

 

James was sprawled upside down on his couch, the TV showing some informercials. There’s an empty box of frosted flakes next to a trail of cereal crumbs and an empty bottle. Shit, that had been the good stuff, too. Mick had stolen that for him a while back when….he didn’t even remember.

 

James has always had a unique way of asking for comfort and emotional support. He demanded it by breaking in and not leaving. Len prefered the usual interactions between the guys – lots of alcohol, watching some sports game and silence interrupted by grunts or threats to the referee. That’s how he dealt with shit anyway. He’s also aware of the fact that it’s seldom enough and that all of them were a bit (a lot) screwed up.

Silently he put the beers down on the couch table and sat down next to James.

“You’re a god among men.“

He’s drunk. Which was worrying, because James has this weird thing about control. You wouldn’t think that he was the type, that the same person who robs a bank with half a prank shop hidden on his person, who jumps headfirst down a skyscraper and whose personal motto is “James YES!“ is also the person who needs to be in absolute control of his facilities at all times. Len remembered a young James, basically a teenager lying about his age, joining the Rogues; never telling the truth about his past. Never trusting them to have his back.

He had seen the potential back then, that by working together they could be so much more than the sum of their parts. On the surface, James was all smiles and jokes, always ready to have their backs. But it took a lot of time until he’d begun to understand that the guys would do the same for him. He’d always pretend to drink way more than he did – easy when the other Rogues were drunk and never question why their glasses were being refilled, easy because the Trickster was and still is the best con man Len has ever seen. But he’d let his guard down, got drunk on an epic party that Len can’t recall except by remembering the fallout. He woke up in Sam’s car in a Big Belly’s parking lot. The car’s trunk was filled with luke warm apple pies, but no Sam. James had come to on the couch, squeezed between Mick’s brawn and Mark’s long limbs (how they all fit on the ratty couch Len had never been able to figure out), wearing a bathrobe over his costume and having his first real hangover. Something had shifted and James had realized that he had friends, true friends. And that translated into James using them for emotional support. It had been weird at first (well, it still was) . Hugs. Talking about feelings. Confronting issues. But he’d become used to it. It was just like James to manipulate them for his and eventually their own good.

Len looked down at James who was still positioned upside down and looking in the direction of the TV, even though he couldn’t even see the screen from where his head hung off the seat of the couch.

“Never substituted milk for scotch myself, worth a try?“

“Nah,“ James admitted.

He cracked open a beer and took a sip. Then he drew the gun from his waistband and sprayed a fine mist onto it.

While the TV presenter with the not-quite-jokerized forced smile talked about the virtues of the new revolutionary kitchen appliance strong enough to grind concrete, James slowly righted himself. He put a hand on his right temple and immediately Len reached out to steady him. James couldn’t stand being dizzy. More control or deeper issues, more likely…

In Len’s world, people at this point were expected to brush him off, claim they were fine and sit in stony silence. James instead slumped against his side. There was nothing except the rustling of clothes until he found a comfortable position. Okay, Len… friend in an emotional slump, broke in to see you, drunk some of your best booze…

Talk? Did normal people talk in this situation? Hug? Len had found out recently that physical interaction didn’t bother him as much as it used to. Sure, he’d been expecting punches for most of his life, but when he spent years getting hugs and encouraging claps, he warmed to the idea.

Len leant back, taking James with him and placing an arm gently around his shoulders.

“Feel like talking?“

“Not really.“

“Will talking make it better though?“

“I’m the manipulative bastard here, doesn’t suit you, Len,“ James huffed.

Len took another sip from his beer. The TV droned on, the cheery presenters jamming all sorts of fruits, vegetables and other food stuffs in a vaguely futuristic looking machine. Both watched in silence as the device churned out a 3 course dinner in 3 minutes.

 

“I thought I saw my parents today,“ James confessed in a quiet voice that Len wouldn’t have believed came from him had he not heard it himself.

It felt like someone had poured a bucket full of ice water down his shirt. Shit.

One time after a job, they ended up taking James to the ER for what seemed to be a complicated leg fracture. Fake IDs were in order, but they still were on edge seeing as James had sustained that injury while they were trying to rob the new Kahndaq exhibition. Hadn’t worked out. Roscoe and Sam had accompanied him (they could pull off the presentable, slightly authoritative look that made people not question their presence too much), claiming to be a pair of brothers whose cousin had had bike accident. While James had been mostly out of it on painkillers, the doctors had performed X-rays. And found dozens of fractures – old ones, some a deade old, long healed. Arms, legs, ribs, wrists…Sam and Roscoe’s shock had been so genuine so the doctors hadn’t believed that they were responsible. Still, they had hightailed it out of there with James later through - to Roscoe’s infinite disgust – the shiny reflection of a bedpan. As James was lying on a couch, leg elevated by a bunch of pillows, high out of his mind, Sam and Roscoe had relayed to the others what they had learned. All of them remembered bits he’d told them – parents let him down, ambitious but untalented acrobats, greedy for more – and agreed quietly – but with extremely cold fury and determination – that James’ parents would never set foot in Central City. They quietly kept watch – as they did for others’ family members, old friends and foes alike – and had so far suceeded.

“Chill, Len,“ James said with a hollow smile at his own pun, “it wasn’t them. Just…looked really similar.“

At this point Len noticed the crushed beer can in his hand. He put it down

“You know I’d push them off a skyscraper if they dared to show their faces, right?“ Len asked.

“Seriously?“

“Or off a bridge. Or… we got tons of ways to make people hurt and disappear, to be honest. You could pick your favorite,“ he suggested.

James laughed. “How generous!“

“Sam alone has like a thousand ways – trap them in a mirror. Or…something worse. A spoon. Shiny bowl. Digger’s shaving mirror,“ he offered.

“Go on,“ James said, sounding sleepy, but …happier. More like himself. The Rogues would always have his back.

“Mick knows every seedy place downtown and Mark uptown. Piper got connections. Roscoe launched a fucking satellite two years ago, we got options here.“

James hummed, a warm boneless weight against Len’s side.

“We could send Digger after them. He’d stuff them into a box and mail them to Australia. Or…hell, we just unleash Lisa.“

James’ breath had evened out. Len dragged the comforter over him. What a night.


End file.
